“Dinner at 8 with Valentinos.” My father shouted from upstairs as I carefully close the main door.
He had been waiting for me, I guessed
I reply a short Yes and quickly walk into the kitchen to get some cool water. It is the dry kitchen where we put all the good stuffs for the visitor, if any.
To be honest, I barely remember if we ever had any guest after my mother died. It was too lonely that I often cried myself out, reminiscing the best moment me and my mother had together.
They were quite a few since I barely was at home. The one reason I started to hate my father because he keep me busy with the school and his business. Yes, he used to be like that. A strict father and treated me almost like a stranger.
Sadly, that is my life.
“Oh, Anastasia, you are home?” Martha chased away my
